The Morning After
by jakela
Summary: This story follows the events of The Scarf, but there is no plot, so it can be read alone. John helps Joss get ready in the morning.


The Morning After

A/N: This story follows the events of The Scarf, but there's no plot, so it can be read alone.

The usual disclaimers: nothing you recognize belongs to me.

John Reese thought that Jocelyn Carter slept like the way she made love – completely, fully and openly. When she fell asleep after an incredible night of lovemaking, she curled around his body, her small frame enveloping him, sheltering him from the world. When she got warm, she stretched out on her back, arms and legs wide, her breasts thrusting toward the ceiling. When she dreamed, her lashes fluttered and her body softly undulated from head to foot, like the end of a wave receding from shore. And when she spoke in her sleep, she spoke clearly and succinctly.

She said the word 'John'.

He could watch her sleep forever.

Finally, he tore himself away. He cleared the remnants of their feast that littered the kitchen counter. He picked up her clothes, shook them out and placed them on the couch, with the red scarf on top. He threw his clothes in the hamper. He showered and shaved and dressed meticulously in a black suit.

He waited for her to wake up.

Slowly she opened her eyes, smiling. "What time is it?"

He knew that she was meeting her family that afternoon, but he wanted her to stay as long as possible.

"It's early," he said.

She walked over to the couch, picked up her purse and went into the bathroom. He heard the shower running and knew that her tiny purse, which seemed smaller than her palm, contained the items she needed to start her day.

She walked out of the bathroom, a large towel wrapped around her body, her hair twisted on her head. Sitting on his bed, she held a small bottle of lotion in her hand. Frowning, she said, "I forgot to switch this bottle out. It's almost empty."

He went into the kitchen. During his first days in the apartment, he'd examined everything in great detail, designating areas to cache weapons, passports, credit cards and cash. In one of the lower kitchen cabinets, the previous tenant had forgotten two small tubs full of toiletries, collected from exclusive hotels all over the world. He picked out several bottles of the same lotion, crossed the room and held them out to her.

She smiled. "Should I ask how you got these?"

"Let me have my secrets, Detective."

He tossed all the bottles on the bed, except one, opening it. The scent, rich and heady, filled the air.

Kneeling, he squeezed several large drops of the creamy ivory colored lotion on her right foot. His large hands spread the lotion down to her toes, then over the ball of her foot, drawing his fingers slowly against the arch. He cupped her heel in his hands, massaging skin that had balanced on four-inch heels for hours the day before. He did the same thing with her left foot, then poured lotion on her shins and calves, massaging the lotion down to her ankles.

He stood and pulled her to her feet, hearing her sigh as he anointed the back of her knees. He poured lotion on her thighs, watching it drift down slowly. He massaged the lotion on her knees and thighs, hearing her sharp intake of breath, as his fingers came close to her essence, but didn't touch it.

Turning her around, he poured lotion on the small of her back. He spread it over her buttocks, hands coming around to caress her stomach. More lotion went over her back, the back of her neck and down her arms and hands.

Her eyes were closed as he turned her around again. He gently pressed her hips. Reaching out with her hands, she stepped back and stretched out on the bed.

Rubbing some of the lotion on his hands, he lightly applied it to her face and neck. He kissed her lips.

"Open your eyes, Joss."

He had marked her as his the night before and her breasts were swollen, a light mottling around the areolas where his beard had irritated the skin and a darker mottling on the areolas and nipples from where he had worried and bitten them.

Squeezing several drops of lotion on her collarbone, he drew just the tips of his fingers of his right hand lightly down her chest. His left hand drifted down her stomach and she parted her legs. As his right hand stroked her breast, drawing circles of lotion over her skin, his left hand lightly stroked her essence, not delving into her, just the lightest touch on the outside.

She watched him, her breathing heavy now, body arching and twisting. She reached up and loosened her hair, letting it stream back over the bed.

His fingers moved closer and closer to her taut peaks, as the hand touching her mound moved faster and faster. She hissed, then sighed as his lotion covered fingers soothed her soreness and then as he heard the hitch in her breathing that he had learned, signified she was close, he touched his lips, first to the right, then to the left nipple.

A shudder went through her.

She grabbed his left hand, holding it, until her breathing slowed, then she stood, walked over to the couch and gathered her clothes.

He sat back on the bed, leaned against the headboard and watched her dress.


End file.
